


Of weddings and other complications

by ylc



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Jealousy, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Romance, even if it's for short cameos, most characters show up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-29 02:29:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3878740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylc/pseuds/ylc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twenty five years after the Almost Apocalypse, Crowley and Aziraphale get invited to Adam's wedding. But things aren't going very well between the two beings and they're about to get just more complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my collaboration for the Good Oments 25th anniversary Big Bang. I got paired with the incredibly talented pridoo (for art) and dearest-angel (for podfic and also beta); I don't know why I was blessed with two collaborators, but I'm deeply thankful for that.  
> Be sure to check out their companion works!  
> Also, a special thanks to thekeyholder, who helped me to write myself out of the corner I had written myself into; this wouldn't have ever be finished without you!  
> And thanks to the moderators, of course. It was fun (even if it also was a little nerve wracking)  
> I'm kinda dissapointed on myself of how short this turned out to be, but I still hope you enjoy it!

It’s been 25 years since the last time he stepped into the bookstore. Sounds like a long time, but it really isn’t, considering how long he has existed. Time heals all wounds, but it’s clear that 25 years is not nearly enough time to cure this particular one. He still aches every time he thinks about it.

 

He was planning on spending a couple of centuries traveling the world, trying to get rid of his unwelcome feelings. Trying to forget how much of an idiot he had been and hoping that by the time he came back, Aziraphale would have forgotten* what had happened.

 

Of course things didn’t work out as he planned. He toys with the letter inside his shirt’s pocket, the one that prompted him to come back to England. The reason he’s here now, instead of on some beach in the Caribbean.

 

It’s not like he had to go and pick up the angel. He shouldn’t have called. He should have just arrived at the party and left as soon as possible, but some stupid part of him longed to see his friend and spend some time with him and this turned out to be the perfect excuse.

 

It’s not like he has been avoiding Aziraphale. He hasn’t. He answers the phone whenever the angel calls and writes back whenever he sends a letter. He just doesn’t start any contact and he makes up excuses to flee whenever the angel manages to track him down and tries to force him to have lunch with him. It’s the coward’s way, he knows, but he’s a demon, so he figures he’s excused. He just can’t deal with all the inevitable awkwardness that them being in close quarters will most certainly bring.

 

However, he’s here now and he can’t back down. He promised he would drive them to Lower Tadfield and he intends to do so. He’ll survive; it’s just a few hours. And the whole weekend afterwards, but he imagines he’ll find something else to distract himself once they arrive at Adam’s.

 

He takes one last deep breath and opens the door. The scent of old books and tea hits him right away and it takes all his strength not to turn around and flee. That night 25 years ago is still imprinted in his mind and he really doesn’t want to be here; not now, not ever.

 

He strolls into the shop and isn’t surprised to find there are neither customers, nor someone behind the counter. The place looks cleaner than last time and there are high shelves with books that Crowley recognizes as current top sellers. He smirks a little, thinking Aziraphale has come up with the perfect solution for his shop’s dilemma: now he gets to sell books he doesn’t particularly care for and he can keep the ones he’s fond of well hidden.

 

“Hey angel, ready to go?” he calls, hoping to sound relaxed, not like the ball of nerves he is.

There’s no answer and he frowns. It’s not unlikely that the angel has lost himself in some book and therefore hasn’t even heard him, but it’s still upsetting. It has always upset him knowing how easily his enemy can forget about him in favor of some book.

 

That should have been his first clue on how he felt all those years ago, now that he thinks about it.

 

“Angel?” He heads towards the back of the store and what he sees makes his heart ache even worse. Aziraphale is talking animatedly with some stranger, both standing quite close, their shoulders touching, while they stare at something in a book.

 

The angel looks up right then and notices him. A grin spreads across his features right away and that eases the pain in his chest a little. “Crowley!” he exclaims happily, leaving the book to his companion and coming to stand closer to the demon. “You’re here! It’s been… what, eight or nine years?”

 

8 years, 8 months, 3 weeks and 3 days. At least he doesn’t know how many hours. “Yes, something like that.”

 

Aziraphale continues smiling at him and the stranger clears his throat. Crowley glares at the man for daring to interrupt them, but the angel flushes and turns his attention back to him. “Oh dear, I apologize for my terrible manners. Edgar, this is my friend Crowley. Crowley, this is Edgar Wood. He’s a… an associate of mine.”

 

The man smiles politely at him, nodding his head in acknowledgment. Crowley nods too, still glaring at him although he now figures the man might have not noticed. He’s still wearing his shades, after all. “Pleasure to meet you,” he lies trying to keep his voice pleasant, even if it’s just for Aziraphale’s sake.

 

“Pleasure is all mine,” the man replies, with a small smirk that undoubtedly Aziraphale misses, “Mr. Fell speaks most highly of you.”

 

They stare at each other for a while, sizing the other up. Crowley tells himself he has no right at all to feel even the slightest bit jealous, but he still does. It’s quite clear that, regardless of the angel noticing it or not, the man intends to become more than an associate.

 

“We really should be leaving, angel.” The demon says, turning his attention back to his friend. “It’s getting late and Adam is expecting us for dinner.”

 

“Right,” the angel says and it’s blatantly obvious he had totally forgotten Crowley was supposed to pick him up and drive them to Lower Tadfield, “I’ll be back in a minute.”

 

He hurries upstairs, presumably to finish packing. Crowley rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to the unwelcome presence in the room. “So, how do you know Mr. Young?” Edgar asks casually, skimming through the book Aziraphale left him.

 

Crowley glares at the carelessness with which he handles the book, “I’ve been working for his father for a long time. We had some… business, a while ago.”

 

The man nods thoughtfully. “Seems to me you and Mr. Fell used to be quite close.”

 

He shrugs. “We’ve known in each other for a long time. Since the dawn of times, you might say.”

 

“Hm. So you disappeared when it didn’t work out, huh?”

 

“Excuse me?” That might be the case, but how does this practical stranger dare to …?!

 

“I’m ready!” Aziraphale exclaims cheerfully, luckily reappearing before Crowley turns the man into a maggot and steps on him.**

 

“I’ll show myself out, then,” Edgar says, smiling pleasantly at the angel. “Dinner next week, as planned?”

 

“Sure,” the angel answers and Crowley forces himself not to react. His heart is breaking, but it’s not like he’d want the other to know it. “I look forward to it.”

 

The man sends one last smirk in the demon’s direction, before heading out. Crowley grits his teeth and closes his eyes, trying to breathe deeply and calm himself. He succeeds, to an extent. “Shall we?” he asks, gesturing towards the door and when Aziraphale smiles at him, he finds himself relaxing further.

 

“Of course.” They step out of the bookstore and walk towards the Bentley parked in front of it. Aziraphale opens the door, a fond smile on his lips while he caresses the leather seat, before sitting down.

 

“What?” the demons questions as the angel continues to smile.

 

“Nothing. It’s just… it’s been a while.” He beams at him, patting the hand that’s resting over the wheel, “I’ve missed you, dear.”

 

Well, bless him, he’s not sure how he’s going to survive this weekend.

* * *

  
  
  


*Or at least have the decency to pretend.

**He’s not prone to temper tantrums, but just this once he might have made an exception.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for not updating the whole thing yesterday, but I had very limited time to use the computer (and I'm hopeless at using my phone for this), so...  
> Anyway, enjoy!

The drive to Lower Tadfield is blissfully quiet. Aziraphale seems to have sensed his somewhat dark mood and hasn’t said a single thing since they left the bookstore. Still, Crowley can’t help but feel tense; this is the longest time they had spent together since that night, 25 years ago.

 

They’re almost there, he can tell. The feeling of love that Aziraphale described him on their first visit to Lower Tadfield is still there, making the demon itchy. He never told Aziraphale, but he knew exactly what the angel was talking about; he could feel it too, even if he didn’t find the sensation pleasant. He knows what love is and, although reluctantly, he can identify it quite well.

 

Regardless of what his friend might think. The words “There seems to be this great sense of love. I can't put it any better than that. Especially not to you" still makes him upset. He guesses that should have been signal enough of what the angel felt towards him; if only he hadn’t been so blinded by hope…

 

“We’re almost there,” Aziraphale comments, staring through the window. “Can you believe it’s been 25 years? Feels like a life-time ago.”

 

“Really? It seems like it was just yesterday to me,” the demon comments darkly, wondering if Aziraphale is referring to the Apocalypse or to what happened between them. Either way, neither are particularly pleasant events and 25 years is not nearly enough to smooth the edges of the harsh memories.

 

The angel hums thoughtfully. “Maybe you’re right. I just… These last few years have been rough for me. I guess that’s what makes it seem longer.”

 

Crowley frowns and turns to look at his companion.  “What do you mean?”

 

The other shrugs. “Times goes awfully slow when you’re lonely.”

 

The demon purses his lips. He’s not going to fall for this trap. He’s not going to address the fact that he has been sort of on the run for the last 25 years. It needed to be done; surely Aziraphale understands that. Surely he isn’t trying to make him feel guilty. That doesn’t seem very angelic.

 

Then again, it’s not like Aziraphale is the picture of a perfect angel.

 

“I’m sure you had plenty of Edgars to keep you company,” he murmurs, even if he knows it’s a petty argument. Aziraphale stares at him, one eyebrow raised and Crowley realizes he really shouldn’t let his jealousy get the best of him. “I mean…”

 

“Surely you understand that a few months of friendly interaction with a human doesn’t even begin to compare to six millennia of shared history.” The angel protests airily. “I missed you, Crowley.”

 

“Yes, well… I needed some time alone.”

 

“Whatever for?”

 

Whatever for? Whatever for?! How dare he ask that? “Well, I did say you were enough of a bastard to be worth liking…” he whispers angrily to himself. Only an insensitive jerk would ask a question like that.

 

“Crowley…”

 

The demon presses the gas pedal a little more and speeds off. They really need to get to Adam’s, before he says something he’ll regret later. This was a terrible idea. He shouldn’t have come. Although it’s not like you can just say “no” to the boss’ son.

 

Even if said son didn’t invite his father to the wedding.

 

“My dear, please slow down. You’re going to-”

 

“Just keep pedestrians out of my way,” he says flippantly, not sparing a glance in the angel’s direction. “I’m not slowing down until we’re in front of Adam’s house.”

 

He can feel his companion’s displeasure, but he doesn’t care. He’s angry and upset and full of self-pity, so he’s not going to care about the other’s feelings. Aziraphale doesn’t care about his, so why should he?

 

He’s really going to regret this trip for the rest of eternity, isn’t he?

 

* * *

 

By the time they finally arrive at Adam’s, the tension inside the car is suffocating. Crowley quickly steps out and heads towards the house, not even glancing back to make sure his companion is following him. He rings the doorbell, if only because he supposes Adam might protest if he just walks into his home without announcing his presence somehow.

 

An angry Antichrist is something he definitely doesn’t need right now.

 

The door opens, revealing a very handsome blond man. “Crowley!” Adam exclaims happily, pulling him into a hug as if they were old friends. The demon frowns lightly, wondering how Satan’s child can be so affectionate. “Aziraphale!” the man exclaims, letting go of him and hurrying to hug the angel too.

 

Aziraphale pats his back awkwardly, obviously as surprised as his counterpart by the warm welcome. They haven’t seen the boy since he was eleven and last time they met it wasn’t exactly under the best of circumstances and yet, here he is, embracing them as if they were friends since forever.

 

“Good to see you, Adam.”

 

The boy-turned-man smiles brightly at them. He looks pretty much the same, just taller and his features somewhat sharper. He takes them by the elbows and pulls them into the house, happily chatting about something Crowley really isn’t paying attention to, too busy wondering what the heck is going on. This overly friendly attitude is making him nervous. It’s just not natural for demons to behave like this.

 

Still, hasn’t Adam proved he’s much more than that? That regardless of his heritage, he’s more human than anything else?

 

“I wasn’t sure if you would come at all,” the Antichrist carries on, oblivious to the demon’s inner turmoil, “I mean; I hoped you would but it’s been so long and it isn’t as if we were particularly close. Of course, stopping an Apocalypse together is something that creates a powerful bond, I would think, however…”

 

“We wouldn’t have missed it for anything, dear boy,” the angel assures him, seeing Crowley is still trying to process Adam’s friendly behavior. “We’re very happy for you.”

 

Adam beams at them, his happiness evident. His good mood is slowing melting the residual tension from the ride, so Crowley starts to relax. It won’t be that bad. He’ll survive the weekend.

 

“I’m just so excited everyone is coming!” Adam exclaims, with childish enthusiasm. “I’ve invited everyone from 25 years ago, even though Anathema and Newt moved away years ago. Madam Tracy was a little hard to track and Mr. Shadwell is no longer with us… Oh, and finding the Horsemen was ridiculously complicated!”

 

Crowley freezes. The Horsemen? They’ll be coming? That can’t be good. “They promised to behave,” Adam says flippantly, “everything will be just fine.”

 

Crowley very much doubts it, but doesn’t comment. He watches as Adam keeps talking Aziraphale’s ear off, a small smile gracing his lips at the angel’s attempts to stay focused on the boy’s endless chatter. Seems like Adam turned out okay, even if a little too… lively.

 

“Let me show you your room!” Adam suddenly exclaims, dragging the angel through the hall, Crowley following them closely, “the house is not that big, but I figured we could make it work. Pepper and I agreed I would host the supernatural beings and she would host the human guests. We’re not living together yet, did I mention that? Pepper is not really into the whole traditional views of how relationships should work, so convincing her to marry me took a while. Not that I’m complaining, I…” Crowley tunes out the boy’s voice, tired of the endless chatter. Satan would have a heart attack* if he saw how his child turned out to be.

 

Earth does crazy things to occult beings.

 

Distracted as he is by his own musings, he misses their arrival to their destination. The doorbell rings and Adam excuses himself, leaving the angel and demon standing in a small room with a double bed and no other furniture. “Ah…” he turns to his companion for an explanation and Aziraphale rolls his eyes dramatically, dropping the suitcase he hadn’t even noticed he was carrying on the bed.

 

“We’re sharing a room.”

 

“Why?”

 

Aziraphale shrugs, apparently unfazed by the turn of events, “As Adam said, the house isn’t big and I doubt there’s enough room for everyone. I don’t sleep, so you can have the bed.”

 

“Oh, and you’re gonna watch over me while I sleep?” he tries to sound casual, like he doesn’t care, but he notices the hint of nervousness in his voice.

 

“Like a regular Edward Cullen.”

 

G-S-Someone! Did Aziraphale just…? “Twilight, really? I thought you had standards.”

 

The angel rolls his eyes once more. “I do have a lot of spare time.”

 

“Maybe you should use it to do your work, you know? Spreading God’s goodwill and whatnot?”

 

“Is that what you’ve been doing this last 25 years? Working?”

 

No. He’s been too busy mopping because a bloody angel rejected him. “Naturally,” he replies calmly, sitting at the bed’s edge.

 

“For a demon, you were always a terrible liar,” Aziraphale states, opening his suitcase and starting to unpack, seemingly not in the mood to carry on with their conversation. Crowley frowns and shifts uncomfortably, displeased by the way things are going.

 

“And you’re a terrible angel.”

 

There was a time when such words would have gotten him smote in the blink of an eye. Now Aziraphale merely arches an eyebrow, knowing he’s just trying to provoke him. The tension is building around them once more and Crowley knows he needs to do something to defuse it before it becomes too much for him to handle; if that means to start a fight, so be it. But the angel keeps his calm demeanor and that’s only making the situation worse.

 

“Maybe we should talk before we join Adam and his other guests for dinner. We wouldn’t want to cause a scene.” Aziraphale’s tone is calm and reasonable; for some reason, that angers Crowley even more.

 

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

 

“Obviously there’s something upsetting you, otherwise you wouldn’t be this snappy. So, if you…”

 

“There’s nothing to discuss!” the demon exclaims, standing up, “and even if there was something upsetting me, what makes you think I would tell you?! Have you forgotten how our last discussion ended?”

 

“With you storming out of my store, without letting me say a word?” Aziraphale replies, his tone now cold, glaring darkly at him. “With you leaving the country, without even letting me know? With me searching for you all over the world until I tracked you down to a small town in Japan and then you disappearing on me?” he spits out, coming to stand toe to toe with the demon. “Of course I remember Crowley.”

 

“Oh, don’t you dare to make this about you,” he hisses back angrily, his finger digging into the Principality’s chest, “there I was, baring my soul to you and…”

 

“We don’t have souls, Crowley.”

 

“See?! There you go again! Bringing up the fact of what we are every time I try to tell you something!”

 

“We shouldn’t forget…”

 

“What?! That you’re an angel and I’m a demon? I know, Aziraphale! I know! It doesn’t change what I feel and…” he forces himself to stop, swallow the rest of his words and take reign of his emotions before he explodes. He’s angry beyond words, but even worse, he’s hurt. He doesn’t want to go through this again. He knows everything he needs to know regarding the angel’s feelings and he won’t put himself out there once more just to be shut down again. “Just forget it. I’m not arguing with you.”

 

“Crowley…”

 

He exits the room without another word. This is too much; he’s not sure he can cope. Missing the angel is awful, but he stayed away because he knew this would happen. He’s still not over their fight; it’ll take centuries for his rage and pain to cool off. Talking about it won’t help, it’ll just make it worse.

 

It’s just for the weekend, he tells himself and repeats it in his mind endlessly, like a mantra. Just a weekend and then he can go back to traveling the world, hiding and drinking his hurt away.

 

He just wishes Monday would come sooner.

* * *

* * *

 

*Never mind he didn’t really have a heart.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that was a long chapter! I didn't notice before...   
> Anyway, audio por this chapter is here: http://dearestangel.podomatic.com/entry/2015-05-04T00_33_10-07_00


	3. Chapter 3

Crowley storms out of the house, momentarily uncaring of angering the Antichrist. In comparison to what he’s feeling, risking Hell’s wrath doesn’t sound that bad. He ends up sitting on the porch, glaring at nothing in particular.

 

“My, my, that’s a lot of anger for a minor demon,” a female voice comments behind him, making him jump. War stands behind him, a smirk adorning her beautiful face. She sits next to him and nudges his shoulder. “Wanna tell me about it?”

 

Crowley arches an eyebrow questioningly. Has everyone in Hell gone mad and he missed the memo? Why is everyone suddenly acting so open and friendly and cheery? As if reading his mind*, War clarifies, “Hell has no wrath as a woman scorned.” She tells him, her smirk growing bigger, “or man-shaped being as the case might be.”

 

The demon scoffs, not bothering to answer. The Horsewoman pouts mockingly. “Come on, talk to me. Trouble in paradise?” She laughs at her own joke and Crowley glowers at her, only succeeding in making her laugh harder.

 

“Don’t you have someone else to bother?”

 

“Do you know I feed on anger and hostility? Since Adam made us promise we’ll behave, I can’t start any riots in here, so I’ll have to settle for you.”

 

“Wow. You really know how to make a guy feel better,” the demon murmurs, his attention no longer on her. The Apocalypse’s Rider scowls.

 

“So, what happened? Did you and your angel boyfriend get into a fight?” she says, after a particularly long silence. Crowley groans.

 

“He’s not- we didn’t- that’s none of your business!”

 

“Oh, please. Just go along with me. I need some conflict or I’ll die here!”

 

“It’s none of your business,” the demon repeats stubbornly, even if a part of him wants to talk about it. It might do him some good to get these things out of his chest, but he suspects War is not exactly the most ideal being to have a heart-to-heart.

 

Red sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes. “Fine, have it your way. Keep moping on your own. I’ll find someone else to keep me entertained.”

 

Crowley ignores her as she storms back into the house. Dealing with the Horsemen isn’t going to be easy, but right now it isn’t his biggest concern. He’s mostly focused on who could he talk to about his current predicament.

 

He suspects there’s really no right answer. In all his immortal life, the only person** that had ever listened to him and tried to help him figure out things was the exact being that was causing all his internal commotion in the first place.

 

A downside of immortality: you’re constantly lonely. People come and go, nobody ever stays.

 

Except for the angel. Crowley sighs, feeling frustrated and defeated. There’s no way he can carry on like this; Aziraphale means far too much to him to simply let things fall apart. He needs to find a way to deal with his _ridiculous_ feelings if he doesn’t want to lose his only friend on Earth.

 

Or anywhere, really. It’s not like people Downstairs like him or the other way around.

 

He stays out, watching the stars for a long time. A part of him wants to apologize to Aziraphale for his behavior, while another part insists that he shouldn’t: he’s a demon, after all. Rude behavior is to be expected.

 

Still, he never behaves very demonly whenever he’s around the angel. Looking back, that should have clued him on his feelings for his counterpart too. He always behaved much nicer when the angel was around***.

 

When it becomes too dark outside, he comes back into the house. He has missed dinner and he hopes Adam won’t be mad about it, but luckily for him everyone has already retired for the night, and Crowley is glad. He’s certainly not in the mood to talk to anyone.

 

Then he remembers he’s sharing a room with Aziraphale and considers sleeping in the Bentley.

 

In the end, he does walk into their shared room, because he is a creature of comforts and spending the night in his car would be terribly uncomfortable. Luckily for him, Aziraphale isn’t in the room when he walks in.

 

Relieved that he won’t have to talk to the angel right now, Crowley falls onto the bed. He closes his eyes, feeling tired even though he doesn’t technically needs to rest. He doesn’t bother changing into pajamas or getting under the covers; his clothes know better than to wrinkle and regardless of his cold blooded beginnings, he doesn’t get cold often.

 

He falls asleep shortly after. For the most part, his sleep is restless; he tosses and turns, haunted both by distant memories and much more recent ones. At some point during the night though, his sleep turns dreamless and finally he stops trashing. He’s warm and comfortable and the demon basks into the sensation of being cared and protected even if he’s unconscious at the moment.

 

So when morning comes and he wakes up feeling more rested than ever before, he is confused. He doesn’t open his eyes right away, instead let himself enjoy these few minutes of feeling at absolute peace. He doesn’t understand where the sensation is coming from, but he doesn’t question it. It’s too nice for him to care much.

 

There’s a hand running its fingers through his hair and that’s quite odd. He arches into the touch, though, because it’s quite lovely, until his brain finally is awake enough to suggest further inspection into the goings on in his surroundings.

 

Crowley opens his eyes. His head is resting on something plush and warm, that he very much doubts it’s a pillow. It smells like rain, old books and chocolate; he nuzzles closer to the source of the smell, taking a deep breath and smiling contently. Suddenly the events of the night before come back to him and he jerks away, finally recognizing the source of the warmth next to him.

 

“Good morning dear,” the angel greets calmly, like they hadn’t been cuddling a few seconds before. Crowley glares at him.

 

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hisses angrily, standing up and hurriedly putting as much distance between himself and his companion as possible considering how small the room is.

 

Aziraphale arches an eyebrow. “Your sleep was restless, so I thought-”

 

“What? That you would cuddle with me for a little while? I don’t need your pity.” He’s about to storm out of the room when Aziraphale bolts from the bed and grabs him by the arm.

 

“It’s not pity, my dear. I was trying to make you feel better; why do you find it so hard to believe I care for you?”

 

“Oh, don’t give me that crap angel. You don’t-“

 

“Just because I don’t feel the same way you do, it doesn’t mean-”

 

Crowley manages to push his counterpart away, the hurt taking over all his rational thoughts. He already knows the angel doesn’t feel the same way he does, but hearing it all over again makes him ache. He closes his eyes and tries to take deep, calming breaths, with little success in actually calming down.

 

“I’m sorry, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispers after a while, having had enough good sense to let the demon calm down a little before trying to speak again, “I- I don’t know what to say to you.”

 

“Never mind,” the demon replies darkly, “you don’t need to explain.”

 

“But I think I do,” the angel argues, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing softly. “I think you don’t really understand what I mean when I say-”

 

“Save it, angel.” Crowley takes a step back and retreats once more towards the exit. “I don’t want to argue with you. It’s probably for the best if we just… keep our distance from now on.”

 

“Crowley…” the other’s voice is pleading, but the demon pays him no mind and exits the bedroom. Outside, he leans his forehead against the door and fights down a broken sob.

 

He wants to run away. He wants to forget about the wedding and go back to running around the world, trying to escape his feelings.

 

There’s no escape, though.

 

It’s been building up for centuries; for millennia. There’s no way he can get over it in just a few years. It hurts, it hurts badly, but there’s no fighting it. Only time will make the ache subdue and even then it’ll still hurt, just not as constantly or as badly as it does right now.

 

It’s a rather depressing thought.

 

* * *

* * *

*Which she probably did.

 

**Well, human-shaped entity, really.

 

***Although, truth to be told, he didn’t behave too nastily most of the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Audio is here: http://dearestangel.podomatic.com/entry/2015-05-04T01_32_31-07_00


	4. Chapter 4

Crowley spends the morning walking around Lower Tadfield, trying to clear his head. He comes back for lunch and for the wedding rehearsal, which he spends sulking in the corner, while Adam keeps messing up his vows, his fiancée getting more exasperated with each try. War smirks happily the whole time.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, spends the whole time smiling beatifically at the couple, occasionally pointing something out to Anathema and holding her youngest daughter. Crowley’s insides clench whenever he happens to glance at the angel, so he avoids looking at him as much as possible.

He knows he’s not okay and that he should do something about it; all this tension is bound to explode at any given moment. However he’s not sure what he can do, so mostly, he just ignores his feelings.

It’s working alright, until Anathema’s daughters start wreaking havoc inside the house and so the woman leaves Aziraphale alone. The angel approaches the demon then and although Crowley tries to escape, the other doesn’t let him.

It ends nastily. Crowley is not sure exactly what it is that triggers his reaction, but soon after the angel comes to stand next to him, they start arguing, which turns into yelling, which ends up in actual physical confrontation. They haven’t fought like this in ages, but it’s a bit like riding a bicycle: you never quite forget how to.

The punches don’t hurt as much as words though, so it’s a welcome change. He’ll rather keep on fighting like this than to turn back to talking. These bruises will fade, but damage done by half-confessions, half-lies and half-truths never will.

Wensleydale and Brian try to separate them with moderate success; they are only human after all. But Famine and Pollution join them shortly after, if only because Pepper is looking quite murderous. War, standing next to the bride-to-be looks thrilled and cheers loudly, regardless of the glares of the other redhead.

In the end, Adam is the one who breaks up the fight. He grabs them both by the arms and proceeds to drag them into the house, using every tiny bit of his supernatural strength and channeling his inner Antichrist to keep them in line.

Crowley is seriously regretting coming.

“Alright, enough!” Adam says, pushing them into their shared bedroom. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but it’s enough. You’re going to stay here and talk about it before you ruin my wedding!”

“Adam, we-” Aziraphale starts, but the Antichrist silences him with a glare.

“Talk. Or kill each other; I don’t particularly care right now. But you’re not leaving this room until you’ve sorted it out!”

He leaves, slamming the door behind him. Angel and demon stare at each other warily, both quietly retreating to opposite corners of the room. The absolute silence is unnerving, but neither tries to break it.

Time passes. Crowley scowls at his companion. It’s all the bloody angel’s fault, after all. If he didn’t insist- if he didn’t push Crowley- if he just left him alone…

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale finally whispers, running a hand through his messy hair. “I- I should probably just leave you alone.”

Yes, that would be helpful. Still, when Crowley hears the angel saying it, his heart constricts painfully.

More silence. “You’re my best friend. The only one, actually,” Aziraphale carries on, his voice barely audible, “and I care for you. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” Crowley responds. His mouth feels dry and he wishes they could have this conversation over some drinks. Then again, that might not be the wisest idea. “I can’t lose you. And that’s exactly the problem. I can’t- This feelings, I just- I don’t know how to deal with them. It’s too much.”

Aziraphale sighs, shaking his head sadly. “I love you.”

Oh no. He didn’t say what Crowley thinks he did, did he? Of course not. No way in Hell. “Don’t mess with me.”

“I’m not,” the angel replies calmly, walking towards him, his arms extended in front of him in a placating gesture, “I love you dear, but I won’t let that compromise my position.”

“What?”

“I can’t Crowley. What I feel and what you feel… I can’t.”

What is that supposed to mean? The angel is making no sense, but Crowley can’t bring himself to say anything more complex than the same question running over and over inside his head. “What?”

Aziraphale sighs once again and gently cups the demon face between his hands. “It wouldn’t be right.”

That raises thousands of questions and yet, the only one that Crowley manages to formulate is “Why?”

He hates the way his voice breaks. He hates how hopeful he sounds. He hates how his unnecessary heart starts beating erratically and his palms start sweating. He hates how easily the angel manages to disarm him and turn him into an emotional fool. 

“It’s complicated.”

Crowley scoffs. “No; it isn’t. Either you want to be with me or not and since you’ve claimed to love me, I just don’t understand why-”

“My dear, I just can’t,” the angel’s voice also breaks, but that only makes Crowley angrier. 

What is that supposed to mean? If the angel feels the same way he does, why are they torturing the other so? Why can’t they have this?

He pulls away and Aziraphale lets him go. Taking deep breaths, forcing himself to relax, Crowley tries to analyze the situation. Nothing makes sense anymore; knowing Aziraphale loves him but is unwilling to do something about it hurts even worse that knowing his love wasn’t returned.

He needs to get out. He hopes Adam hasn’t done something to the room to force them to stay inside it until they’ve solve their problem; he tries the door handle and it opens easily. With one last look at his friend, he exits the room.

He walks like in trance towards the kitchen. He finds Pepper and War standing side by side making sandwiches and bickering. Both redheads look up when they hear him coming and the human scowls at him while the horsewoman smiles brightly. “Everything alright?” Red asks, evidently hoping for the contrary.

“I suppose,” Crowley answers, shrugging. Adam walks into the kitchen then and eyes him carefully.

“What’s going on between you two?” the Antichrist questions, crossing his arms over his chest.

“It’s complicated,” Crowley replies and his companions scoff.

“Well, you’d better have it sorted out before tomorrow. If you ruin the wedding-” Pepper trails off threateningly. War stares at her delighted, which makes the other female turn to glare at her before huffing indignantly and exiting the room.

Adam sighs. “Really Crowley… please sort it out. I don’t want Pepper to find a reason to call off the wedding.”

Crowley rolls his eyes. “You’re the Antichrist. You can make people do as you please.”

Adam frowns. “That wouldn’t be right,” he says, pursing his lips, “you don’t manipulate the people you love.”

Well, damn it all. An Antichrist who takes the moral high ground: Satan must be so proud.

“I’ll figure it out,” Crowley promises, but it’s easier said than done. He might be able to solve whatever is happening, if he only knew what exactly is going on. He just doesn’t understand what’s happening or why.

“You’d better,” Adam states calmly, before following his fiancée. That leaves Crowley alone with War, who’s smirking widely, like the cat who got the cream.

“Have you tried asking him why is he behaving the way he is behaving?” the woman asks innocently, batting her eyelashes playfully, “I’ve heard that helps.”

Crowley sighs. “I tried. He wouldn’t say.”

Red hums. “Well, as lovely it is to watch you two fight and get all passive-aggressive, I think it’s better if you solve it. We wouldn’t want a mad Antichrist in our hands, huh?” she smirks maliciously, “Daddy dearest wouldn’t like that.”

“What?”

War’s smirk widens and Crowley gulps.

Well, that would definitely be problematic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Audio here: http://dearestangel.podomatic.com/entry/2015-05-04T01_58_27-07_00


	5. Chapter 5

The wisest course of action apparently, is avoiding Aziraphale all-together. If the angel refuses to talk, there’s very little Crowley can actually do, so he figures it’s better to just avoid him. Besides, he’s got other preoccupations.

 

Namely a boss he hasn’t seen in millennia, but who is probably very displeased at him.

 

He doesn’t sleep the night before the wedding, figuring he’d rather avoid waking up like the day before. It was nice, but hurtful. He doesn’t understand what Aziraphale is doing, or why, so he’d rather not have those small tastes of happiness that will eventually be ripped away from him.

 

He paces around the house, trying to distract himself examining the pictures the Antichrist keeps around. Adam is a real mystery; so much power trapped inside a human body and an absolute reluctance to use it for his benefit.

 

“Hello Crawly.”

 

The demon freezes, turning around very slowly. He comes face to face with someone he didn’t think he’ll ever see again and he certainly isn’t thrilled by the unexpected presence, “Hastur.”

 

The demon Duke smirks cruelly at him. “Fancy meeting you here.”

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

“I come representing our Lord and Master Satan,” Hastur replies smugly, puffing out his chest.

 

Crowley arches his eyebrows. “Really? Why would he do that?”

 

Hastur waves a hand dismissively. “Our Lord is terribly busy, but he didn’t want to turn down the invitation from his son. Not that he understands why is he doing this, but…”

 

“So, my father isn’t coming?” Adam says, having walked into the living room without either of the demons noticing. “Why I’m not surprised?”

 

“Your Highness, your father apologizes-”

 

“Oh, cut out that ‘highness’ nonsense,” Adam argues, “no titles or any of that. In fact, you don’t even need to stay. I invited my father because it seemed like the sort of thing you should invite your father for, but it’s not like I really wanted or needed him here.”

 

Hastur stares surprised at the Antichrist; it’s obvious he wants to say something, but considers it unwise. He bows his head a little and replies. “If you don’t mind, my Lord, I’d like to stay. Catch up with Crowley here, for a little while.”

 

Adam frowns and turns his attention to Crowley, who is just as baffled. Finally, the Antichrist nods. “Alright then. Make yourself comfortable.” Sending one last concerned glance in Crowley’s direction, he exits the room.

 

“What do you want Hastur?” Crowley demands. He knows the Duke has no friendly intentions towards him, but he also knows he’s not at risk while they’re under the Antichrist’s roof. Hastur isn’t stupid enough to try something here.

 

The Duke opens his mouth to speak, but interrupts himself when something else grabs his attention. He’s staring at something outside the window and he smirks evilly. “Your little angelic pal is here too, huh?”

 

Crowley forces himself to not react. He half turns and catches sight of Aziraphale in the garden, playing with Anathema’s girls. Or rather, just watching over them while the girls laugh and play around him. “Adam invited him,” he states, as calmly as possible.

 

“He isn’t your plus one?” Hastur asks, his smirk getting wider and eviler. “How tragic.”

 

Crowley frowns, trying to puzzle out the Duke’s meaning, but before he can ask or say anything, the other demon turns around and exits the room, leaving Crowley on his own to ponder on the recent events.

 

He stays in the living room, watching Aziraphale through the window. His heart aches and he longs to go outside and spend some time with his friend, but he knows that wouldn’t be wise. Still, he can’t help but wish things were different.

 

Hastur appears next to the angel. Aziraphale looks surprised and then frowns at whatever the Duke is saying. Hastur is still showing that self-satisfied smirk that just gets on Crowley’s nerves, but now he’s worried. How do Aziraphale and Hastur know each other? And what are they talking about?

 

Aziraphale looks up then and catches him observing them. The angel smiles softly and then turns his attention back to the Duke of Hell, who’s now smirking cruelly and Aziraphale pales.

 

Crowley frowns and hurries to materialize next to his friend. Hastur looks amused and then simply disappears.

 

“What was that about?” he demands from Aziraphale; the angel looks a little shaken and more than a little pained. What the heck did Hastur say to him? “Angel?”

 

Aziraphale seems to snap out of his reverie and looks at Crowley. “Nothing. Nothing for you to worry about, my dear.”

 

Crowley is about to ask more, but they’re interrupted by Anathema’s children deciding they want the ‘adults’ to join their game and dragging them in different directions. Aziraphale smiles at the girls and indulges them all the while ignoring Crowley’s concerned glances.

Something is going on. But what?

 

* * *

 

“Well, it does seem strange” Adam agrees after Crowley finishes telling him what just happened at the garden, “but why wouldn’t Aziraphale say something to you?”

 

“I don’t know!” the demon protests airily, “that’s what I’m trying to find out!” He’s panicking and more than a tad frustrated, because shortly after what happened in the garden, Aziraphale had made up some excuse to leave the house and had somehow convinced the horsemen to keep Crowley entertained long enough so he wouldn’t follow.

 

Adam sighs. “Crowley, as… strange as this whole thing is, you do realize I’m about to get married in a few hours and I can’t-“

 

“Yes, yes, I know! I just wanted your input!” Crowley argues, trying to keep his anger at bay. Arguing with the Antichrist will get him nowhere and it’s potentially very dangerous. “And maybe I was hoping you would have a clue of what’s going on.”

 

“Sorry, but no.”

 

“Can’t you use your powers-?”

 

“To what? Get the truth out of Aziraphale? It’s his choice telling you or not. I won’t take that choice away from him.”

 

Damn that free will bullshit! He needs to know and he needs to know now! “Adam, please-”

 

“Talk to him. That’s all the advice I have to offer.”

 

“But Adam-!”

 

The Antichrist sighs, exasperated. “Listen, I’ll help you to corner Aziraphale and you’ll ask him nicely. If he still won’t talk, I’ll decide what to do.”

 

Not exactly what he was hoping for but it’ll have to do. “Okay. Thank you.”

 

“Come on now,” the Antichrist says urgently, “let’s get this over with. I would like to start preparing for my wedding.”

 

With that, both not-quite demons head outside, going looking for a runway angel.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Using Adam’s supernatural abilities for tracking, they end up in the place where Adam and the Them used to conduct their childish reunions, 25 years ago. Adam looks around The Pit, a soft smile on his lips, no doubt remembering his younger years. Crowley ignores him, too focused on looking for his angel.

 

“I really don’t know what else you want me to say,” he hears Aziraphale say angrily, “I’ve done exactly as we agreed.”

 

“Is that so? Then why are you here?” Crowley’s blood runs cold, having recognized the angel’s interlocutor’s voice. He and Adam approach the voices quietly, careful not to alert them of their presence.

 

“Why am I-? Adam invited me!” Aziraphale argues, obviously frustrated. “I couldn’t refuse. Besides, I agreed on not pursing my relationship with Crowley further, not on never seeing him again!”

 

“Really angel, finding loopholes? You should know better. What would your Superiors say?”

 

“I imagine they would be displeased,” the angel admits begrudgingly, “but I don’t particularly care. What I’m doing… it’s only for Crowley’s sake.”

 

“So noble,” Hastur sneers, “so bloody angelic of you.”

 

Crowley is confused. What are they talking about? “What are you really doing here, Duke Hastur?”

 

The demon smirks sadistically. “Just making sure you’re keeping your end of our bargain.”

 

“Why?”

 

The Duke shrugs. “I don’t know. Personally, I would love nothing more than getting the chance to get even with dear Crowley and you breaking your side of the deal would give me just that… But orders are orders and I know better than to disobey. Or go looking for loopholes.”

 

Aziraphale frowns. “What exactly are you saying?”

 

“Well, here’s the deal: you stay away from Crowley or the consequences will be…” he gestures vaguely, still smirking cruelly, “severe.”

 

Aziraphale opens his mouth to argue, but the Duke carries on before he can say anything. “And before you argue something, we’ve already discussed this with your Superiors. They’ve agreed you’re not keeping your end of the bargain.”

 

“I didn’t-”

 

“Angel, we can argue as much as you want, but at the end of the day, your options remain the same: either you agree or you’ll watch Crowley suffer the consequences.”

 

Aziraphale clenches his jaw. Crowley stares at them completely confused and more than a little enraged. It seems something big is going on and nobody thought it would be nice to let him know, which seems unfair especially seeing it concerns him greatly. Shouldn’t he be involved somehow, if this whole bargain is for his sake? Isn’t his life the one on the line?

 

He’s about to step in and demand explanations, when Adam beats him to it. “What’s going on here?” the Antichrist demands, signaling for Crowley to keep hiding.

 

Angel and demon turn to face him, both paling considerably. “Adam-” Aziraphale starts nervously, while Hastur bows low, murmuring excuses.

 

“Silence, both of you,” the young man demands and both parties comply immediately. The air is thick with tension and crackling with the Antichrist’s barely contained power. “Now, Hastur, kindly explain what’s going on.”

 

“My Lord, I don’t think-“

 

“Answer me,” the blond demands darkly and for a second his resemblance to his father is so strong that Crowley can’t help but shiver and feel a little bad for Hastur. It passes quickly, though.

 

Hastur bites his lip, obviously conflicted, but finally obeys. “As you might know, your Highness, this angel,” he points at Aziraphale, “is in love with the demon Crowley.” Adam nods while Crowley feels his heart soaring. “And the feeling is mutual.”

 

“Yeah, so?”

 

“So?!” Hastur exclaims, disgusted, but as Adam remains indifferent, the demon deflates. “So that’s not natural.”

 

Adam narrows his eyes. “Love is love,” he argues, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “I see nothing wrong with this.”

 

Hastur sneers, “Demons don’t love.”

 

Adam shrugs. “I’m half-demon and I can assure you I love. I love my hometown, the people in it, my family and friends. And I’m deeply in love with the woman I’m supposed to marry in a few hours, so you’d better finish your explanation quickly before I lose my patience.”

 

Hastur looks nervous now. “Heaven and Hell don’t approve of their relationship,” he explains, his tone a little desperate. “Twenty-five years ago we took precautions regarding it not developing further.”

 

Crowley frowns. That certainly explains a lot of things, even if it does raise a handful of new questions.

 

“That seems unfair,” Adam states calmly, “the only people that should make decisions regarding a relationship should be the people in it.”

 

“But my Lord-“

 

“Hear me now,” the Antichrist says solemnly, “and hear me well. From now I hereby declare that if the demon Crowley and the angel Aziraphale wish to be together, they’re allowed to do so.”

 

“But- You can’t-”

 

“I can’t? Am I not the Antichrist, the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness and therefore, your Master too?” he questions, glaring darkly at the Duke, who is now cowering and shaking with fear.

 

“YOU’VE GOT NO JURISDICTION IN HEAVEN, HOWEVER” a new voice, seemingly coming from Heaven itself, interrupts. Aziraphale and Crowley look up, but there’s no one to be seen.

 

“Is that so?” Adam questions calmly. “Correct me if I wrong, but I seem to remember I stopped an Apocalypse 25 years ago.”

 

This time, no response from high above comes. Crowley sighs, relieved.

 

Adam turns his attention back to the demon Duke. “Leave now.”

 

Hastur bows low before disappearing in a puff of smoke. Crowley rolls his eyes; demons, always so prone to dramatic exits.

 

“Aziraphale,” Adam says, getting Crowley’s attention right away. The angel stands in front of the Antichrist, looking a mixture of worried, relieved and sheepish.

 

“How did you-?”

 

“Crowley asked for my help,” Adam interrupts, gesturing for Crowley to come on over. The demon steps closer and Aziraphale’s eyes widen while he fidgets nervously.

 

“My dear… you heard that?”

 

“Yes.” The demon deadpans, “What was that about?”

 

Aziraphale is about to respond, but Adam interrupts them. “As fun as this has been, I really must insist we get back home,” he says, looking at his watch. “Pepper will have my head if I arrive late to our wedding.”

 

Demon and angel nod, before heading back towards the car, holding hands. They’ve got much to discuss, but they’ve got time.

 

They have all the time in the world.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

The wedding, regardless of all the previous complications, is a success. When Pepper and Adam finally kiss, the crowd cheers happily. Afterwards, the party is a quiet affair, seeing there are few guests. This is probably for the best, considering the ethereal nature of some of them.

 

Aziraphale and Crowley kind of avoid each other. There are many questions still hanging between them, but none of them is in a hurry to talk about it. Crowley is certainly relieved, knowing his feelings are reciprocated and although he’s a bit worried about Hell’s involvement in his previous ‘disagreement’ with his angel, overall, he’s happy.

 

He drinks and chats amiably with the Horsemen. War looks disappointed that the fight between him and the angel is over, but she doesn’t comment much. Famine keeps eying the food with concealed displeasure and Pollution smiles happily at the mess the guests leave behind. Death walks around the room, not staying much with anyone and generally going unnoticed by the mortals.

 

Aziraphale sits with Anathema and Newt, watching over their children who run around the garden, yelling and laughing. Every now and then Crowley finds himself staring after the angel and when their eyes met, they both smile.

 

He’s so glad he agreed to come to the wedding.

 

* * *

 

It’s almost midnight by the time Crowley finally decides to sit down with Aziraphale and have a little chat. However, the angel seems to have plans of his own, because the minute Crowley comes to stand next to him, Aziraphale stands up and proceeds to drag him back into the house, away from the party and curious eyes.

 

“I’m really sorry about this whole ordeal, dear,” Aziraphale says before Crowley can even open his mouth. “So, so sorry.” He cups his face gently. “I really wanted things to go other way, but-”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Crowley finally asks the question that has been eating him inside since the confrontation in the Pit.

 

Aziraphale shrugs, “I didn’t want to worry you.”

 

“So you choose to break my heart instead?”

 

“You don’t-” Crowley glares and the angel interrupts himself, looking sheepish, “I’m sorry. I just- I just thought it was for the best.”

 

“What exactly- how-?”

 

“Remember the day after the Almost Apocalypse? Well, shortly after you left I received a summon. I- well, I’ll spare you the details of my meeting with the Metatron, but long story short, I was _strongly advised_ to forget all this feelings nonsense.” Crowley arches an eyebrow and the angel shrugs, “you know, the usual threats of eternal damnation and whatnot.”

 

“Angel-”

 

“But what really convinced me of not pursuing our relationship further was when your people showed up. I- That’s when I realized just how strong my feelings for you really were. I didn’t mind eternal damnation if it meant an eternity by your side, but when they threatened you…” he gestures vaguely, despair written all over his face, “I couldn’t do it.”

 

“I don’t understand, Aziraphale. You knew how I felt and if you felt the same way-”

 

“Don’t you see? That’s exactly why I had to do it!” Aziraphale exclaims, a bit desperate, “Because I love you and I’ll rather not have you than see you hurt!”

 

Oh, well, that’s a nice sentiment, Crowley thinks. He’s still somewhat angry, though. “But nobody told me a bloody thing! Seeing it was an eternity of torment for me, shouldn’t someone have at least give heads up?”

 

“Really? You’d expect your people to do that?”

 

“I mean you, you big moron! I spent 25 years despairing, thinking you just simply didn’t care for me the way I did for you and it turned out you were just worried about me!”

 

“Are you angry?” the angel questions and he sounds honestly baffled. “You’re angry I tried to save you from eternal torment?”

 

“It should have been my choice! At least partially!”

 

“Oh, you- you- you bloody stupid Serpent! Of course I wouldn’t tell you because I know how impulsive and foolish you can be! I knew you would take the risk.” The angel has now backed him up against a wall and Crowley can’t help to find the whole situation a little bit thrilling. “I had to protect you.”

 

“I don’t need protection,” the demon grumbles, but decides to relent. After all, there’s no point on keep on arguing when they could be doing far more pleasurable things. Including, but not limited to, kissing.

 

Because really, he is a demon and demons aren’t patient creatures!

 

“Just saying sorry won’t do,” he says, wanting to at least have the last word of their little argument. He fights back a smile because regardless of everything else, he’s happy.

 

“Oh, I know,” the angel replies, with a smile that is not a little bit angelic, “I plan to make it up to you, though.”

 

“Is that so?” Crowley places his hands tentatively on his companion’s hips, giddy with relief but still not sure of the limits of their new relationship. “What do you have in mind?”

 

Aziraphale just smiles some more before leaning in for a kiss that Crowley has no trouble deepening. All in all, it’s a rather satisfactory ending.

 

Although, actually, it’s just a beginning.

 

* * *

 

 

“Really? You can’t bother to show up at your son’s wedding, but I just give a few orders to your minions and you’re here?”

 

Satan has the decency to look ashamed. Just for a couple of seconds, though. It wouldn’t be fitting for the ruler of Hell to be scolded by his 35-years-old half-human son. “I was planning on coming anyway.”

 

Adam rolls his eyes. “Right.”

 

“Well, you must admit this whole thing is just odd,” the Devil argues. “Why would you marry, after all?”

 

“Because I’m in love?” Adam suggests sarcastically, glaring slightly. “And before you give me that crap about being the Antichrist, I’ll have you know that everyone deserves love.”

 

The demon stares at him for a while, before nodding slightly. “Maybe so”. After a few seconds of tense silence, he adds, “You’re quite wise for such a youngster, you know?”

 

“I know,” Adam says, smiling brightly and placing an arm around his father’s shoulders. “Now, let me introduce you to my wife, huh? And my other parents, of course.”

 

Satan groans but complies.

 

After all, it is not every day that your son marries and he’s feeling generous.

 

 


	8. Epilogue

The Monday after the wedding there’s no way to leave the bookstore due to the dreadful weather, so the two ethereal beings decide to stay in bed. It’s certainly odd to have a snow storm in the middle of summer and humans are freaking out, but Crowley certainly isn’t complaining, because being curled next to the angel is quickly becoming his new favorite thing in the world.

 

He makes a mental note to thank Adam for everything later.

 

Aziraphale grumbles something about sloth, but the demon pays him no mind. Curled together like this, he can’t help but think that’s the way it was always supposed to be. He’s happy; happier than he can ever remember being. He can’t also help but feel a little put out about how long it took them to get here: to think of all the time wasted…

 

Aziraphale offers him a sip of his hot cocoa and all his glum thoughts disappear like magic. He smiles at his companion, basking in his warmth presence, enjoying the feeling of Aziraphale’s fingers running over his scalp.

 

“You’re purring,” the angel informs him with a small smile on his lips, without lifting his eyes from the book that Crowley strongly suspects he’s just pretending to read.

 

“I’m not a cat,” the demon protests, “I don’t purr.”

 

Aziraphale doesn’t answer; he simply smiles some more. The demon pouts, but his counterpart ignores him.

 

The phone rings. Crowley glares at it, trying to get it to disconnect the call, but Aziraphale rolls his eyes, stands up and answers before Crowley succeeds. The demon pouts some more, hoping that whoever is calling will hang up soon.

 

“Oh, good morning Edgar,” the angel says and Crowley growls. It figures it would be that troublesome human. He should do something about him, but what-?

 

His thoughts are interrupted by Aziraphale glaring lightly at him, shaking his head. The demon glares back, wondering if disconnecting the call and getting the angel mad at him would be worth it, but then Aziraphale comes back to bed and kisses his nose, making him melt.

 

Crowley leans back on the bed and lets the angel talk for a while with the human. However, as the minutes pass and the angel shows no sign of ending the call anytime soon, Crowley starts to get impatient. Finally, after fifteen minutes of idle chit chat Crowley climbs into his counterpart’s lap, earning an offended yelp from the angel and grabs the phone.

 

“It was really nice hearing from you Edgar, but my boyfriend and I are enjoying some quality time together and I’ll appreciate if you call some other time.” Aziraphale stares at him, surprised and the demon smirks, “Actually, I would _deeply appreciate_ if you don’t call at all.”

 

Crowley hangs up without waiting for the human to respond, still smirking and the angel is still staring at him in surprise. “That was terribly rude, my dear,” Aziraphale informs him, trying to look annoyed and not succeeding.

 

“It was rude of him to interrupt us,” Crowley protests, before leaning in for a kiss. “We’ve got better and far more interesting things to do than talk on the phone with some human, angel.”

 

Aziraphale rolls his eyes. “Well, I suppose you’re right.” His smile turns mischievous. “What do you have in mind?”

 

Crowley smirks before giving him another lingering kiss. “Oh, I’ll show exactly what I have in mind.”

 

“Boyfriend?” Aziraphale asks between kisses, not one to give in without a fight.

 

“Partner? Husband? Other half?” the demon questions, punctuating each word with another kiss, “which term do you prefer? There’s really no way to describe our relationship.”

 

Aziraphale smiles at him, “No, I suppose not. What about soulmates?”

 

Crowley chuckles. “We don’t have souls,” he replies playfully.

 

“But if we did, you’d certainly be the other half of my soul. The better half.”

 

“Now you’re just being corny,” the demon protests. “Less talking and more kissing, if you please.”

 

With a laugh, Aziraphale complies.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> You can find the audio post here: http://dearestangel.podomatic.com/entry/2015-05-04T00_02_04-07_00  
> And the art is here: http://pridoo.tumblr.com/post/118201955275/heres-my-part-of-the-goodomens25thanniversarybang  
> Oh, and you can also find me in ylc1.tumblr.com


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